


that foolish feeling

by heart_nouveau



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bisexual Peggy Carter, F/F, First Kiss, First Time Together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-27
Updated: 2016-10-27
Packaged: 2018-08-27 06:27:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8390731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heart_nouveau/pseuds/heart_nouveau
Summary: “Oh, give it a rest,” Angie said, cutting her off by leaning in to kiss Peggy on the open mouth. She arched up against Peggy’s body, like a live animal or a cat looking for attention, and the pure vitality of it made parts of Peggy ignite, parts of her that usually came alive only when she was beating someone into a bloody pulp. The visceral parts of her, the slight violence that had made all her schoolmistresses scold her heavily when she was young, the kind of feeling that had made her curious about what was under the other girls’ dresses and had led her to push them up against shed walls and touch their lips with hers. The kind of feeling that still felt natural to her, but that she’d buttoned away under so many layers of shame and duty that it was odd to give in for once. To capitulate.Set during S1, when Peggy and Angie are both living at the Griffith Hotel.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written in 2014 and re-edited.

 

 

Peggy didn’t have much time to think of anything outside of work, and then Howard’s absurd missions for her. But whenever she came home to the Griffith, Angie seemed to fit perfectly into the interstices, steady and present as a housecat, winding her way into the corners of Peggy’s life until she settled herself firmly at the center of Peggy’s attention. Also, at this particular moment, at the center of Peggy’s bed.

Peggy licked her lips, still tasting the last of the raspberry schnapps Angie had finally foxed her into drinking some two or three hours ago. Angie had been sitting Indian style on the middle of the bed, but now she shifted forward slightly without embarrassment or shame. They’d stopped talking for a few minutes now, existing solely in this close silence.

Angie put one hand on Peggy’s thigh.

Alcohol had made Peggy’s head slightly cloudy in a way that she didn’t usually allow. There was a feeling of unreality in this faux-homey room that was no home, that belonged to her in no real way, next to this beautiful young woman whom Peggy knew she shouldn’t— _couldn’t_ —lay to claim to either.

She saw Angie’s eyes trace the contours of her face, skirting Peggy’s cheeks, jaw. Her mouth. Peggy sucked in a half breath and tried to think of duty, of her alarming tendency to get those close to her killed, and she meant to pull away.

Instead she did exactly the opposite.

Angie leaned in at the same time as Peggy. Those big blue eyes of hers were wide in the way, Peggy realized, that Angie had always looked at her, except Peggy had not been willing to truly recognize or see it. As if Angie was ready to accept this for what it was, and what it could be.

Angie reached out, and her fingers were soft under Peggy’s chin. When their lips met they fit as perfectly as pieces of a puzzle. Peggy lifted her hand to Angie’s face, daring to touch, and comforting warmth swept through her body.

They shifted closer together, like it was inevitable. Then, a sharp stab of fear. Peggy drew back, placing a steadying hand behind herself.

Angie watched her lazily, sweet, sharp eyes charting Peggy’s movements. It was difficult to remember how she was supposed to feel, what she was supposed to conceal, and what she was allowed to show, when everything in her chest was a warm hot blur.

“I’m just a bit flummoxed,” Peggy said, apologetic. Angie raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, so now I’ve got you lost for words, English,” she teased.

Peggy stiffened. “I don’t know about that—”

“Oh, give it a rest,” Angie said, cutting her off by leaning in to kiss Peggy on the open mouth. She arched up against Peggy’s body, like a live animal or a cat looking for attention, and the pure vitality of it made parts of Peggy ignite, parts of her that usually came alive only when she was beating someone into a bloody pulp. The visceral parts of her, the slight violence that had made all her schoolmistresses scold her heavily when she was young, the kind of feeling that had made her curious about what was under the other girls’ dresses and had led her to push them up against shed walls and touch their lips with hers. The kind of feeling that still felt natural to her, but that she’d buttoned away under so many layers of shame and duty that it was odd to give in for once. To capitulate.

She’d thought that that feeling was dead, had long gone away, but with Angie it was like that again.

“Goodness, you Americans are forward,” Peggy said at last, when they paused. She felt rattled, unused to losing her composure. To her mother’s delight, she must have finally become a proper English lady, or at least some semblance of one.

“What, you got another American girl I don’t know about?” Angie’s voice was light, but with a sharp edge under the question.

Peggy blinked. “No, it—” She let out a heavy breath. “No. No other American girls.”

Angie looked at Peggy with the deep understanding that her bright chattiness sometimes belied. “Ohhh. So you had a fella.”

“I don’t… It doesn’t have anything to do with this, so I’d rather not talk about it.” 

“You sure, honey?” Angie traced a few fingers over Peggy’s cheek in a way that made Peggy feel like she was about to implode, her traitorous heart squeezing.

She nodded. “Quite.”

“All right, well I’m just gonna lock the door real quick,” Angie said, hopping off the bed. When she turned back she wore a teasing smile, and something lifted in Peggy’s chest to see the irrepressible girlishness in her expression, the lightness. Angie got onto the bed and straddled Peggy, then shook her shoulders back and forth with a jangly swing. “Undo me, will ya?”

Peggy reached forward and to her surprise, her fingers were shaking. She slowly undid the buttons of Angie’s knitted cardigan—homemade, Angie’s mother must have done it for her—and blouse, and when she’d taken it off Angie reached up to help with the brassiere.

Peggy didn’t know where to put her hands. “It’s okay,” Angie said gently. She lifted Peggy’s hands and placed them over her bared breasts, then sucked in a breath that pushed them into Peggy’s palms. She was warm and her nipples hardened immediately, brushing against Peggy’s thumbs and fingers.

Peggy felt herself turning red. “Oh, my.” She wanted to touch Angie everywhere and yet she felt inhibited, as if she couldn’t move.

“You’re pretty cute, you know that,” Angie told her playfully. But Peggy couldn’t respond. Somehow she had gotten choked up. It was embarrassing, really.

“Hey,” Angie said gently, relaxing her body and moving close to brush a hand over Peggy’s cheeks. “Is something wrong?”

Peggy blinked hard, surprised by the moisture beading in her own eyes. “No… No, I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize, honey,” Angie said, cocking her head. “So, you’ve never done it with another girl?”

“Ah, no, it’s not that. It’s just—been a very long time.” That seemed like the best way to put it.

“Well, it’s really fun and easy. You’ll love it.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Peggy said archly, raising an eyebrow, which caused Angie to give a throaty laugh. Angie leaned down to kiss her, and they kissed for a few mindless and heavenly minutes, yet some other unrecognizable feeling was mounting in Peggy’s chest until it became unbearable. She had to pull away. “I’m sorry, could we… not do this now?”

“Okay,” Angie said softly. “Wanna wait for another time?”

“Yes. Please,” Peggy said, and lay down to rest her head against Angie’s bare chest, comfortingly warm in its nakedness. 

Eventually Angie reached down to smooth the dark hair away from Peggy’s neck on one side, exposing it to the cool air of the room. She inclined her head and kissed the spot tenderly, and Peggy sighed. She turned to Angie.

Things progressed.

 

 

 

After they lay side by side in Peggy’s narrow bed, Peggy still clad in her slip and Angie in nothing but her knickers, and Angie turned to look at Peggy. “You know, I lost someone in the war too.”

Peggy was silent for a long moment. There still wasn’t a proper way to talk about this. She hadn’t spoken about it with anyone, really—not her mother, aging away in the countryside, nor her younger sister who was starting a family back in Suffolk. There would never be a proper way.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“Don’t need to talk about it,” Angie said neutrally. Which was surprising, coming from such a chatterbox.

Peggy took one of Angie’s curls between her fingers, playing with the soft hair. When she glanced up, Angie was looking at her with a fond, somewhat private smile. “Yes?”

The other woman chuckled. “That was fun, English. I’m just glad you like me after all. It was starting to get old, how many times you gave me the runaround. Thought maybe I’d personally offended you.”

“I… I have a habit of losing people close to me.” It was as tactfully put as Peggy could manage.

“Don’t we all though, with that damn war.” Angie turned on her side, nestling into Peggy, pressing her forehead against the side of Peggy’s head. “Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere. I’ve signed a ten-month contract with this place, and Mrs. Fry will skin me alive if I welsh on the deal. Not to mention my mama.”

She laced her fingers through Peggy’s and Peggy felt, for the first time in such a goddamned long time, a deep and uncomplicated calm.

It had grown dark outside. As Angie breathed steadily next to her, Peggy cast her eyes towards the window, illuminated in the pale moonlight, and thought about what she’d just done.

It felt dangerous to sit still and inactive, but this was too difficult to deny. She would just have to be very careful.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I recently decided to clear out a bunch of old stories from my computer and found this one practically finished. I only watched Season 1 of Agent Carter, and found these two very cute. I just really like Peggy Carter - who doesn't? Here she's still very shaken by the apparent loss of Steve. 
> 
> Title from the song by Tommy Dorsey.


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